Unease
by pgrabia
Summary: House picks up a drunk Wilson from a bar and gets more than he anticipated.  A post-episode fic for ep. 7x2 'Selfish'. Takes place in evening after the end of the episode. AU with drama, romance. H/W pre-slash. Very slight H/Cu & W/S.


**Title: ****Unease**

**Author: ****pgrabia**

Disclaimer: House M.D., its characters, locations and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and the Fox Television Network. All Rights Reserved. The song 'Thinking of You' belongs to Katy Perry.

**Genre(s):**AU, angst, drama, pre-slash, romance, post-episode, season 7

**Character(s)/Pairing(s):**G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy, S. Carr; House/Wilson pre-slash, tiny bit of House/Cuddy and Wilson/Sam

**Word Count: **7406

**Warnings:**Spoilers for all Seasons and episodes up to Season 7 episode 2.

**Rating: pg-13 (T)** due to coarse and suggestive language, adult concepts.

Author's Notes: A response to episode 7X2. This takes place in the evening and early hours following the last scene of the episode.

**(~*~)**

Dr. Gregory House lay awake in bed hours after his lover had fallen asleep, sated from their latest round of lovemaking. Ordinarily he would have passed out quickly as well but he couldn't stop thinking about the day he'd had at work. A gnawing sensation in his stomach told him that despite the fact that they had come to a resolution to be perfectly blunt and honest with each other at the hospital, he and Lisa Cuddy were still not 'good' as far as that went. He knew that nothing had really changed or would change. Cuddy would always need to be in control of everything that happened in her hospital and be opposed to most of the riskier procedures and tests House would need to employ and he would give in to her until his patience was pushed to the breaking point at which time he would blow up and be stubborn and insistent, knowing that he was right and she wasn't and likely cave to her wishes again anyway to keep her happy. He needed her to be happy. He wanted this relationship to be the last one he ever had and to last as long as he was still alive and the truth was working together was risky enough. Having her as his boss and supervisor made it worse and the fact that they were usually at odds professionally forebode disaster, eventually. If he resisted her she would be angry that he questioned her authority and if he gave in he was not only being untrue to himself but less than effective for his patient.

It was a no-win situation that would end up driving a wedge between them if they didn't sit down and really discuss the issue, just as Wilson had suggested. It would inevitably affect their personal lives. Cuddy had difficulty leaving work at the hospital when she left for the day and her natural commanding nature, which was both a blessing and a curse, would find it difficult not to try to supervise House outside of work hours. He would be selfish and resistant and the sparks would fly—and not good sparks, either. It was what House had been concerned about, warned Cuddy about, the first day they were together as lovers. He knew that they had to set down boundaries and guidelines that were clear, mutually acceptable and inviolable with clear consequences should either of them cross the line; the problem was, he doubted they could come to a consensus on everything and an argument would result. Arguments had to be avoided because they had a tendency to result in breaking people up. That being the case, they would never really resolve anything and resentments would build until there was nothing left between them but anger and hurt.

House knew he wouldn't let it get to that stage; if all other options had been exhausted he would break-up with her before they became bitter enemies. He didn't want to ever be Lisa's hated ex.

That fear kept him awake and his mind spinning. That and the fact that despite Wilson's insistence that he was happy for House and Cuddy and wished them nothing but the best, House couldn't shake the feeling there was something wrong. He didn't believe the oncologist was being completely honest with him, but he couldn't figure out what that exactly meant or what it was Wilson was keeping from him. It was a puzzle, and House couldn't resist puzzles, especially when they involved his best friend.

He looked over to Lisa's beautiful face. She looked angelic and House wondered what he'd done to get so lucky all of a sudden. She loved him; true, she hadn't wanted to fall in love with him, had fought it, and that alone should have bothered him just a little, but he wouldn't allow it. He wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth (not that he thought of Cuddy as a horse—it was simply a figure of speech). He loved her, he really did. So why was he so filled with doubts about them? Why didn't their relationship feel _right_? It left him feeling very…uneasy.

House rolled over to spoon up behind her and wrap his arm around her. This was his first sleepover at her place and he wanted to make the most of it. Just as he was getting comfortable his cell phone began to ring. He cursed at first until he realized that the ringtone was 'Dancing Queen'. It was Wilson. Wilson wouldn't call him after midnight, knowing that House and Cuddy could possibly be spending the whole night together if it wasn't important. He rolled over quickly—his bad leg protested the sudden change in position petulantly—and grabbed his cell off of the bedside table, answering it before it woke both Cuddy and her daughter in the adjacent room.

"Yeah?" he said quietly, slowly swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting up.

A voice that definitely wasn't Wilson's—or Sam's, for that matter—spoke. A deep bass asked him, "Is this Dr. House?"

House frowned. "Who's asking and why are you calling me from Wilson's cell phone?"

"Wilson, huh?" the voice said. "Well, _Wilson_ is pissed out of his gourd and decided it would be fun to play bowling with my bar glasses and his shoe. Then he began to undress, saying it was too hot in my bar. You need to pick him up before I decide to call the cops and press charges."

House didn't know whether to growl in frustration or laugh in amusement but one thing was certain—he was very surprised. This wasn't the first time the oncologist had begun stripping and breaking things when drunk out of his mind (in fact, the breaking of glass had been the way they had first met), but it _was _the first time in a long time that he had done it without House along to drag him home. Wilson didn't drink to excess while alone unless he was upset or angry about something serious. That thought stifled any sarcastic remark House may have wanted to make.

"Okay," House grumbled, "give me your address."

After memorizing the location of the bar House hung up and regretfully woke Cuddy with a gentle shake on her shoulder and kisses on her face. She moaned a little and then opened one eye.

"House, we'll have a quickie in the morning," she mumbled. "Let me sleep."

"It not that," he told her. "I got a call from a bar owner wanting me to cart Wilson home before he has the cops throw him in the drunk tank."

"Wilson's drunk?" she asked sleepily, frowning.

"That's usually why they put a person in the drunk tank," House told her in confirmation, rolling his eyes. "I'm going to go pick him up and take him home."

"Why doesn't Sam go and pick him up?"

House rolled his eyes. He wasn't expecting to have to play twenty questions with her. "I don't know," he whispered. "Maybe he asked the bartender to call me. If he did there's a reason. He's picked me up and driven me home more times than I can remember, I figure I owe him a few. I'll try to be back before morning. If not I'll see you at work."

"Okay," she agreed, pouting now. "But I won't let you be taken advantage of this way again. Wilson has Sam now. He can wake _her _up. You're _mine_ now. Got it?"

Her eyes were closed again so she didn't see the flash of anger that crossed House's eyes and then disappeared again. She was telling him what he could and could not do outside of work now? That did not sit well with him at all and his first impulse had been to tell her so but he remembered himself just in time and bit his tongue. She probably hadn't meant it as a command and really, it wasn't worth risking an argument over even if she had.

Rather than lie or open his mouth and risk telling the truth House simply bent down and kissed her cheek tenderly and then crawled out of bed. In under five minutes he was dressed and on his motorcycle. He planned on stopping at his apartment on the way there and exchanging the Repsol for his car. There was no way he was going to risk taking a drunk Wilson home on the back of his bike and have the oncologist pass out and fall off, funny as the mental picture was. Once the exchange was made he was back on his way to Hanover's Bar and Grill, a seedy little place that would have been exactly the kind of establishment House would have gone to on his own to drown his sorrows in bourbon or scotch, but not really Wilson's style. His car was parked in the lot out back, though. House arrived just before last call, going directly to the bar where the bartender stood watching a repeat of an earlier UFC bout on the small TV bolted to the wall behind the bar. It was quiet, only a couple of people sat at the bar and five or six more at three tables.

The bartender was a short little man with short balding hair and a scowl. It was hard for House to believe that the commanding bass he'd heard over the phone came from him but it had.

"Are you Dr. House?"

"Yeah," the diagnostician acknowledged. "How much does he owe you?"

"He paid up," was the answer. "I told him to stay put while I delivered a couple of drinks but by the time I got back he was gone."

"Gone?" House echoed, instantly concerned.

"Yes," the bartender told him, reaching behind the bar and offering House Wilson's car keys. "I figure he decided to walk home."

"He lives five miles from here!" House snapped angrily. He stormed out of the bar, yelling over his shoulder an insult or two. He walked to the corner and looked down each direction. Heading south, the opposite direction from the loft, House saw a bobbing and weaving figure two blocks away that had to be his best friend. With a tired sigh House limped to his car, leaning heavily on the cane. He drove up beside the figure and sure enough it was Wilson, so drunk that he could barely stay standing much less walk in any semblance of a line—yet somehow he'd made it this far without tripping and falling on his ass, getting hit by a car, or mugged.

House rolled down the passenger side window and called to an oblivious oncologist who was singing something slow and melancholic—or at least House thought it was singing; he could have been reproducing the song of the pterodactyl, that's how out of tune he was.

"James Evan Wilson," House called, "stop where you're going and get into the ca—What the fuck, Wilson? Where the hell are your pants this time?"

His best friend turned around towards the sound of his voice but did so too quickly and fell on his ass to the ground. House sighed and pulled the car over to the curb, parking it. He grabbed his cane and hauled himself out of the vehicle. Wilson sat on the ground laughing like an idiot and House struggled to keep himself from laughing at the younger man. To help with that he reminded himself that Wilson had been drinking likely because something was upsetting him. House came to stand beside him and stared down at him with an arched eyebrow.

"Where _are_ your pants?" House asked him soberly but it only served to send the younger man off on another fit of laughter.

"I…I thinnnk I gave 'em to a homeless man outside the…bar," the oncologist answered, slurring heavily with a tendency to extend sounds too long. "S'okay—I haave more like them a-at home. But he-eey, you came! I figured C-Cuddy would have made you stay and service her, if you know what I mean." He tried to wink conspiratorially but he ended up blinking both eyes four or five times instead. No matter how annoyed he was, House couldn't help but chuckle softly.

"You're a ridiculous drunk, Wilson," he told him, reaching down to offer Wilson a hand up to his feet. "And a cheap one," he added.

"That's why you like me," the younger man told him with a lopsided smile, "Because I'mmm chee-ap!"

"Yes, you are," the diagnostician agreed, struggling with him. "For Pete's sake, Wilson, I'm a cripple here. Could you at least pretend to cooperate? I'd like to get you home before dawn." He managed to get one of Wilson's arms around his shoulder and lifted using almost solely his left leg and his cane for balance. It took a couple of tries but he managed to get him to his feet, kind of.

"But I don' wanna go home, Housey!" Wilson protested. The older man cast his friend a dirty sidelong glare.

"Don't ever call me 'Housey' again," he growled, "or I'll drop you on your ass and go back to Cuddy's nice warm bed."

"I-I'll just be-het you will," Wilson shouted. "Yooou've been waiting to ride that filly for a long time. Or would she be a mare?"

Sighing, House began to move the both of them towards his car, his bad leg screaming at him from the extra weight and strain.

"Come on, Wilson! Walk a little. You're fucking heavy!"

"I'll have you know that I've _lost_ weight!" Wilson told him indignantly, but he did take two or three steps of his own which was just about enough to get to the car. "Sam's cooking taaastes like shit, House. Shit. House. Shithouse!" He began to roar with laughter at his own joke. "Get it? Shithouse!"

"Yeah, I get it," House told him dryly, rolling his eyes. "_Very _creative."

"I can't eat the stuff. I put it in my mouth and then when she's not lookin' I sp-spit it out into my napkin." He made a raspberry sound with his tongue, spraying House with spittle.

"Jeezus, Wilson! Keep that thing in your mouth!" House hissed as he opened the car door while trying to balance the younger man against the car.

"That's what she said!" Wilson retorted and then laughed at himself some more.

House pretty much shoved the oncologist into the front seat in disgust and buckled him in as best he could before slamming the door shut and climbing into the driver's seat. He started the car and pulled into the light traffic.

Wilson reached over and turned on the radio, cranking the volume and singing along with music at the top of his voice. "…_'you're the best, and yes, I do regret how I could let myself let you go. Now, now the lesson's learned; I touched it, I was burned. Oh, I think you should know! 'Cause when I'm with him-uh, her I am thinking of you…'._"

"Wilson," House tried to interrupt only to have Wilson put his finger to House's lips and shush him. The temptation to bite that finger was nearly irresistible.

"Here comes the best p-part, House," the oncologist told him before picking up with the music again. " _'…thinking of you, what would you do if you were the one who was spending the night…Oh I wish that I was looking into your, your eyes…mmmhmmm…Oh won't you walk through? And bust in the door and take me away? Oh, no more mistakes 'cause in your eyes I'd like to stay, to stay…'_!"1

House turned the volume down but otherwise left Wilson alone to his singing. At least he wasn't getting into trouble that way, although he _was_ giving the older man a headache. As he sang House tried to puzzle through the possible reasons why Wilson went out and trashed himself on a work night. The only thing he could think of that made sense was that he was upset with Sam. That's why Wilson didn't want to go home.

"So what did Sam do this time?" the diagnostician asked him when the song was over and the younger man stopped singing. "Run away with the dry cleaning guy? Bang Mr. Soo down at that Korean take-out place on the corner?"

"No-oh!" Wilson answered, shaking his head repetitively until House had to reach over and grab his chin to stop him.

"Hey, quit that!" he ordered angrily. "I don't need you puking in my car! So, if it's not Sam then why did you decide to pickle your brain tonight?"

"I can't tell you," Wilson told him, suddenly losing his smile and replacing it with one of the most forlorn expressions House had ever seen. Huge, chocolate brown puppy-dog eyes looked over at him. In fact, House couldn't help but feel a little sad himself just looking at his best friend. There was something terribly wrong and before he left Wilson for the night he was determined to find out what the problem was.

"Why not?"

"Because yooou'll hate me and I'll lose the best and o-only friend I have," Wilson murmured, and then sighed and turned to look out the side window.

"Wilson, I'm pretty certain that, after all of the bullshit we've put each other through over the years, nothing you have to tell me will destroy our friendship," House assured him, glancing over at the other man from time to time. "Does it have to do with me?"

Wilson said nothing but he hung his head slightly. That was a confirmation if ever House saw one. He tried to think of what it was he said or did lately that would upset Wilson this much and there was only one thing that had changed recently, but it didn't make sense. For years Wilson had been pushing him and Cuddy together and even today he claimed to be genuinely happy for the two of them. No, it had to be something else, the diagnostician decided.

Sighing, House asked, "So what did I fuck up this time?"

Wilson turned to look at him with red, runny eyes. "You didn't fuh-uck up. I f-fucked up. Then you did what I've been telling you to do for years and then I fucking lied and told you thaaat I was fucking happy for you, you sonofabitch."

It took a little time to find his way around that maze of F-bombs but eventually House figured he had somewhat of idea of what the oncologist was saying. He hoped.

"Let me see if I've got this is right," the older man responded with uncharacteristic patience. "You're angry at yourself for telling me to get together with Cuddy for years because now I have gotten together with her; you told me you were happy for us but you lied about that. You're _not_ happy about my relationship with Cuddy. Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

Wilson looked at House with admiration, nodding. He tried a couple of times to touch his index finger to his nose without luck but when he did succeed he then pointed that same finger at the older man. "That," he told House and then belched loudly, "is correct! You're _good_ at whatever game this is…here."

"This isn't a game," House told him quietly, frowning. He didn't know whether he should be angry at Wilson for lying to him earlier in the day or at himself for not seeing the fact that Wilson had been lying to him. He _did_ know that he felt somewhat guilty, however, but he didn't know _why_. He hadn't done anything wrong. He'd made a decision to make a relationship between Cuddy and himself work after she came to him and told him that she loved him. He was pursuing his first real opportunity for happiness in over a decade. Wilson had Sam and _he_ was happy. He didn't like the Harpy's cooking, perhaps, but he was happy, or so he said. Was he lying about that too? Why was he upset that House finally had his chance for love? To keep himself from blowing up in anger the diagnostician reminded himself that these were the words of a drunk man; Wilson probably didn't really know what it was he was talking about.

The two of them remained quiet for a couple of minutes. House didn't know what to say and Wilson was staring out at the road in a stupor. The silence was deafening, so House was the first to break it.

"You said that you fucked up, Wilson. Aside from lying to me you fucked up. What did you mean by that?"

"If I tell you," Wilson hedged, "you have to promise that you won't hate me."

House rolled his eyes. This was getting ridiculous! He decided that he would agree, let Wilson babble everything out of his system and then take him home for Sam to look after. Then he would return to Cuddy's in time for morning nookie. At work later in the day the hung-over oncologist would be unlikely to remember any of this, which would be just fine by House..

"I promise," House told him with a nod. "Now tell me what the hell it was you fucked up!"

"You don't have to yell!" Wilson protested like a petulant child.

"Wilson…," House said threateningly through clenched teeth but didn't continue with his warning because the younger man began to answer.

"I fucked up _us_," the younger man told him softly, looking for the entire world like he was going to cry. House hoped he didn't start with the waterworks. He hated that because it always ended up getting to him and making him all…caring and compassionate. Wilson was the only one who could do that to him and the oncologist was enough of a manipulative bitch to know it and use it.

"Who do you mean by 'us'? You and Sam?"

"No," was the quick answer. The younger man's expression was indignant. "_You_ and _me_."

House sighed. "How did you fuck us up? Nothing's fucked up. We're still friends."

"Ba-arely," Wilson argued. "I was so scared you'd find out the truth about me so I figured if I could get you to date Cuddy then my miserable little secret would remain hidden. You see? B-but it didn't work so well. You kept resisting it and then Cuddy had to go and get a baby to mess things up. Before that Amber saved me for a while, and I really loved her, House. I really, really did."

The older man glanced sidelong at his friend and nodded somberly. "I know."

"I know you know," the younger man acknowledged with an exaggerated nod. "I love you too, House, and I almost fucking _killed_ you. I thought, if House dies then I might as well die too."

"You did _not_ think that!" House said, suddenly troubled by that proclamation. All of this talk about love and death was making him very uncomfortable. "Tell me you did _not_ think that!"

"I did," Wilson admitted in a small voice and a shrugged. "I saw you lying there in the hospital all pale and tubes coming in and out of you everywhere and I told God that if he was planning on taking you then he should take me instead because I was the bastard that made you do the DBS. I told Him that if he took you like he did Amber then there was no way in hell I was going to be left behind by both of you."

House felt sick to his stomach; he shook his head slightly in disbelief. Wilson had never told him this before. He'd told the diagnostician that he'd run away from him after Amber's death because he was afraid of losing him too, but this was completely new information he'd never heard before. Wilson had planned on killing himself if House had died after the DBS? It would have hurt him so badly to lose the older man that he wouldn't have wanted to live anymore? Why hadn't the younger man told him this before? Did that mean that if House were to die now, Wilson wouldn't want to keep living? No, no that couldn't be true. Wilson now had Sam should anything happen to him.

Still, House needed to know for certain.

"Wilson," House asked him, "You don't still feel that way, do you? I mean, it's not like you'd be all alone. You have Sam in your life—"

"You really don't get it, do you?" Wilson exclaimed, regarding his best friend with dismay. "Do I have to spell it out for you? Pull over! Come on, pull over now! We need to talk eye to eye!"

House shot a surprised look at him. Wilson wasn't usually this bossy and intense, even when he was drunk. He sounded like he meant business and wouldn't take no for an answer. House figured it might make things easier if he just humored him. He turned off the next exit and pulled into the empty parking lot of an industrial strip mall. He parked and turned off the engine, sighed, and then turned to face the younger man.

"Wilson—" he began but said man wouldn't allow him to continue.

"No, House. I need to talk f-first."

"You can barely even _talk_," House told him wryly but the look on Wilson's face shut him up. "Okay, you first."

The younger man nodded and as he talked he punctuated his words frequently with his hands.

"First of all," he began, "I need to tell you something that I wanted to tell you earlier but I didn't 'cause I d-didn't want to piss you off."

House smirked slightly at that confession but said nothing.

"First," Wilson continued, "you're the diag-diag-diagnostic genius, not her. Before you two were sleeping t-together you never would h-have backed d-down from doing what you knew was the best method of t-testing or tr-treatment of a patient jus' because she said so. You said yourself—she's not the greatest doctor. But you let her c-control your case. That was f-fucking stupid."

House felt a little defensive but there was nothing false about what his best friend said so he held his tongue.

"You are just fine a-as yourself, Howwwse," the oncologist asserted, putting a hand on House's shoulder. The diagnostician stared at it. They didn't usually make a lot of intentional, conscious personal contact but it didn't bother him really. In fact, he kind of liked it. It was a sign that his friend still cared and felt secure enough around him to do it without fear of being punched. "You shouldn't have to change or deny who you are to make Cuddy love you or want to be with you. Does she love you or does she love who she wants you to become? Or do you _want_ to be her la-lap dog? Hmmmm?"

What he was hearing was hitting too close to home; House couldn't meet the other man's eyes. Instead he looked past Wilson to fix his gaze on the door handle behind him. He wanted to be angry but he couldn't summon that emotion for some reason.

"Second," the younger man said, "when I realized you two really were together, I kept asking myself how that could happen. Don't you remember the things she and L-Lucas did to you—and me—this past year? Sh-she betrayed your hallucination of sleeping with her t-to Lucas then fl-flirted with you before even admitting she was sleeping w-with him and brought him to a conference to p-play nanny. S-she was hiding him. Why? Was she embarrassed of him? What i-if sometime she wants to hide you 'cause she's embarrassed or is flirting with someone else? She did it once and got away with it, why not again?"

"She wouldn't do that!" House snapped angrily but he still couldn't meet Wilson's gaze. "She told me she loves me."

Wilson cackled at that and for a split second House wanted to hit that smirk off of the younger man's face. That second passed, however, without him following through.

"Don't you think she told Lucas that she loved him?" his best friend told him. "I don't think Lucas would have proposed if she hadn't convinced him she was in love with him, do you?"

House gritted his teeth. He wished it was fury that was mounting in him but it was anxiety instead. Trying very hard to channel it into anger he said asked indignantly, "Where exactly is this going, Wilson?"

"Patience," Wilson told him, frowning and shaking his head, "I'm getting there. Don't forget how she made you drive—what was it?—six hours to her sister's place in a cramped car only to find out she'd lied to you and was having Thanksgiving dinner back in Princeton? Who was the one who had to put up with your-p-pissy attitude with your aching leg for two evenings after th-that? M-me, that's who—but I didn't mind 'cause you're my friend. _I_ wouldn't have done that to you but _she_ did. I'm sure she and Lucas had a _huge_ laugh after sex that n-night."

"Wilson…" House said warningly, clenching and unclenching his fists but the oncologist went on without hesitation.

"Then she conveniently didn't h-hear about the way Lucas tripped you in the cafeteria when she hears when and knows how l-long the average employee takes out of productive work time to take a pisssss. How is it she knows when you're playing your video game in an exam room b-but she didn't know ab-about that assault in her own hospital? Bullsh-shit she didn't know! She covered up her boyfriend's criminal actions towards you, House. Y-you could h-have been hurt!

"But, after sending a d-disabled man into a d-disaster zone instead of a-able bodies doctors like me or Chase or Taub, and agreeing to marry that puke that morning," Wilson slurred, "she shows up when you have to have been at your m-most vulner-vulnerable and in pain and dumps Lucas the same day she said yes and comes and tells you that she loves you. Cuddy the s-savior. And you, the smartest man I know, fell for it. Then t-today she controls you like a p-puppet—"

"Wilson, enough!" House said tersely, the muscles in his face tightening and his breathing quickening. He pushed the other man's hand off of his shoulder. Now he was getting angry, but it was anger born out of defensiveness which was born out of disliking to be reminded of the ugly truth.

His best friend ignored him again. "—and then she has the g-gall to chirp about being c-completely, brutally honest with each other as the solution to your problem and everything is haaappily ever after?"

House looked surprised, now meeting Wilson's brown eyes with angry blue ones. "How do you know about that-?"

"Half the hop-sital heard you two fighting—in front of the p-patient's parents of all places!" Wilson answered, snorting in derision. "You don't think that w-went through the hospital like wildfire? She hasn't b-been honest for a long time, House. Why should she start now?"

The diagnostician had heard enough for one evening. "Enough!" he shouted on the top of his lungs. "I_ get_ it! You lied; you're not in support of my relationship with Lisa! But there's one thing you've forgotten, buddy-boy! _She_ was there for me that night when I was ready to end a year of sobriety and was convinced that there wasn't a single person in the world who gave a shit about me! Where the _fuc_k were you? At home, fucking the harpy without a second thought about me, that's where! You've lied to me too! You said you'd be there for me—but you weren't! Where the hell do _you_ get off criticizing _her_?"

House didn't want to hear some piss-poor answer from the other man. Too much of what Wilson had said had hit home and only bolstered some of the other questions House been asking himself only to try to push them out of his head. Being near the other man hurt too much all of a sudden and he got out of his car without warning and limped a few yards away without his cane before stopping and just standing in the dark lot, facing away from his best friend. He bowed his head and concentrated on banishing his anxiety and sadness, trying to deny that he was hurting and that anything Wilson had said that evening meant anything at all. He wanted to convince himself that Wilson hadn't meant what he had been saying, that he was too drunk to mean it, but he knew that wasn't true. Alcohol didn't create false thoughts and beliefs; it lowered the inhibitions that usually prevented a person's real thoughts and beliefs from being expressed out loud.

"I was not home 'fucking the harpy'!" Wilson yelled after him. He'd clumsily climbed out of House's car and was leaning against it for support, looking over the roof towards him. "I was stuck at the hospital! I couldn't go anywhere until I found my car keys!"

House lifted his head. He turned around to face his best friend, looking completely baffled.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded. Puffs of steam rose from his mouth and condensed in the cool evening air. Streetlamps refracted through and reflected off of the microscopic droplets.

Wilson sighed loudly enough to be heard three yards away. "I was there l-late with the victims. Cuddy had returned and gone home b-before I got to. Foreman t-told me about y-you. How much pain and how upset. I went to my office t'get my jacket and briefcase and found that my car keys and my wallet were missing—I'd left it in my briefcase while I worked and my b-briefcase was open when I got to my office. I had them earlier. S-someone took 'em. I wanted to go to your apartment t-to check on you but I had no keys, no mmmoney and your apartment key was on my key ring with my c-car keys. I looked _everywhere_. I gave up and c-called Sam for a ride. She was _not_ happy about having to get out of bed to come g-get me and she wouldn't take me to your place. I tried c-calling your apartment but there was no answer. Anyway, when I g-got to work the next day my keys and wallet were waiting at the front desk. S-someone dropped 'em off there sometime last night. Nothing was m-missing in my wah-llet but your apartment key was gone."

House listened with a mixture of fascination and disbelief. It made sense now why Wilson had had to crawl through the window the next morning to get into the apartment. But who would have wanted to take the apartment key? Instantly it occurred to him: How _did_ Cuddy get into his apartment? He'd locked his front door when he got home the night before and shut it, yet somehow she'd been able to get in without him knowing. She had to have been the one to take Wilson's spare key. But why take his entire key ring and his wallet, too? She could have just taken the apartment key off of the ring and left everything else where it was. Hell, she could have just asked Wilson for it, except then Wilson would have insisted they go together to check on the diagnostician and if Wilson had been there, she wouldn't have been able to declare her love for House and become his _sole_ savior, the _only_ one who showed up for him….

_Fuck_, House thought with disappointment and disgust. _She wanted to make certain Wilson couldn't be there to support and comfort me, too._

Whatever her true motives had been, she'd lied and stranded the oncologist without caring about the inconvenience it would have cost him instead of simply being honest. She hadn't spoken up when Wilson had to crawl through the window or afterwards when he'd left thinking that House was either hallucinating again or lying to him. She'd allowed House to believe that Wilson hadn't cared enough to check on him. Brutally honest with each other _indeed_!

"I…I would have come," Wilson said softly, looking as if the cool air sobering him a little. "I really w-was worried. I couldn't sleep all night. I've been a bastard to you but that d-doesn't mean I've stopped l-loving you." He staggered a little as he rounded House's car and began_ to walk towards the older man. "I love you more than she does. It's s-safer for her. I've been too st-h_upid to do anything about it. I'm not brave like you. You're not afraid of w-what people say about you. I t-try but I can't s-stop being afraid. So I b-blew my chance but I don't want you to make a mistake and get hurt. House—G-greg—Lisa's a mistake. And I couldn't t-tell you the truth and I didn't want to g-go home to Sam again so I got drunk so I could find m'balls and tell you." House didn't budge from his spot when Wilson reached him and stood in his personal space. His hot breath stunk of scotch. "I called Cuddy's p-place the next morning before work to sssee if she took my keys. L-lucas answered the phone. The sap was still watching her k-kid after she dumped him and went to see you, but I d-didn't know that then, of course. Do you _really_ want to b-be with someone who could do that, even if it was to a jerk like L-lucas?"

House looked down into his friend's chocolate brown eyes and all of his previous anger for him fizzled away. He couldn't believe he was hearing what was coming out of the younger man's mouth! It was a confession the diagnostician had never thought he would ever hear from Wilson and he was so confused he didn't know what to say or do. Why had Wilson waited to make his drunken confession before taking up with Sam again, or before the older man had entered a relationship with a woman he thought he knew but obviously didn't know as well as he'd thought? The older man had only waited for _years_ to hear it. If it was all accurate and true, House was certain he _didn't_ want to become another 'sap'; as for Wilson? So much water had already passed under the bridge and House needed time to think—alone.

"Come on," House told him quietly, grabbing his right forearm to keep the younger man from toppling over. "If you even remember all of this tomorrow you're going to want to bury your head in the sand. Let's get you home." House led Wilson back to the car.

"Wait!" Wilson said just before House put him into the car. "I think I'm gonna-!"

House quickly realized what was about to happen and jumped out of the way just before the oncologist spewed all over the concrete and on the rear tire.

"Nice," the older man said, screwing his face up in revulsion at the sight and smell.

"Sorry," Wilson muttered, looking ashamed and wiping his mouth on his jacket sleeve.

House smirked at that. The diagnostician had done his share of puking over the years and usually it had taken place _inside_ Wilson's car so he figured he'd gotten off lightly on the 'what-goes-around-comes-around' angle.

"Forget it," he told the younger man as he shoved him back into the car. "I needed the tar stripped off that hub cap anyway."

**(~*~)**

House waited impatiently as Wilson fumbled with his keys to find the right one for the front door to the loft. The corridor outside the apartment was quiet; it was the wee hours of the morning, after all. Telling that to Wilson had no impact on the volume of his voice, however.

"I found it!" Wilson declared loudly when he came upon the desired key.

"Congratulations, Christopher Columbus," House replied sarcastically. "Can we hurry it up here before the sun begins to rise?"

"What are you, a vampire?" Wilson asked him and began to giggle. "_I've_ got some bodily fluids you can suck!"

House looked at Wilson in astonishment, uncertain whether to tell him to shut up or laugh. He bit his bottom lip and frowned at him. "Fuck, Wilson, just stick the key in the hole!"

Wilson kept giggling, "_I've_ got a hole you can—"

Before the oncologist could complete that statement, and to House's relief, there was a click and the door swung open to expose Sam standing there in a silky pink robe that only emphasized the fact she had no breasts to speak of. She took in the sight of her boyfriend/ex-husband and then glared angrily at House.

"Oh that's just _great_!" she said in antipathy, "You took him out and got him stinking drunk."

"Nuh-uh," House defended with a smirk. "Wilson's a big enough boy to get _himself_ drunk. I'm just the taxi service he called to bring him home."

Wilson glared at Sam and then turned to House and said softly, engaging his watery puppy-dog eyes again. "Are you going to go back to Lisa now?" There was fear and sadness there. House felt his heart twist in his chest and for a moment he had an overwhelming urge to kiss his best friend.

"Not tonight," House told him with a slight shake of the head. He musingly tapped his cane a couple of times on the floor. "I'm heading home—to think. I'll call the hospital tomorrow and tell them not to expect you in for the morning."

"_I_ can do that," Sam told the older man with a scowl. She grabbed Wilson's other arm and pulled him from House's grip. "What are you waiting for, _a tip_?"

House couldn't help himself; he hated that bitch. Leaning in with a wicked smile he said to her conspiratorially, "Remember what I said about outlasting you?"

She said nothing, but her eyes narrowed to little slits, her nostrils flared and her lips pursed in anger before she dragged Wilson through the threshold. The oncologist began to hum a few bars from the song he'd been singing along with earlier that evening and gave House a knowing wink before Sam slammed the door in House's face.

House chuckled with evil satisfaction, shook his head, and then limped back to his car.

**~fin~**

1 from "Thinking of You" as written and performed by Katy Perry.


End file.
